


Keep Your Prize On The Eyes

by glockmonkey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Archivist Sasha James, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Everyone lives/Nobody dies, F/M, Fix It, Found Family, Gen, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Author Goes Absolutely Ham With Headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27304459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockmonkey/pseuds/glockmonkey
Summary: “There’s actually a statement we had a question about, Elias, we asked Jon but he wasn’t quite sure of the answer-”“Statement of Tim Stoker, Sasha James, and literally everyone with common sense of the fact that Sasha James definitely deserved the head archivist position.”“I was getting to that!”——Jon and Sasha are co-Archivists. Jon is forced to relax for a minute and Sasha is given the recognition she deserves.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, you get it they're all best buds
Comments: 24
Kudos: 106





	1. Starring Sasha, as Herself

**Author's Note:**

> just a heads up that this WILL contain spoilers, so if you’re not super up-to-date on the podcast, maybe don’t read this. I feel the need to give a warning that I am canadian and have never been to the UK in my life, so lmk if I sound Too Canadian. also, I didn’t review this too much, so lmk if there’s something I wrote weird that you can’t understand. thanks for reading!

“Tim,  _ honestly, _ you don’t have to-”

“I’ll be right back out-”

“ _ Tim- _ ”

“Tim, Sasha, come in,” said a muffled voice. 

Sasha sighed, giving Tim a glare of disapproval. 

“Now look what you’ve done.”

Tim simply opened the door between them, making a dramatic gesture towards the inside of the office. 

Sasha ignored his smug face and walked inside.

“Have a seat,” said Elias from his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sasha looked at Tim. Tim looked at Sasha. 

Sasha was the first to speak.“There’s actually a statement we had a question about, Elias, we asked Jon but he wasn’t quite sure of the answer-”

“Statement of Tim Stoker, Sasha James, and literally everyone with common sense of the fact that Sasha James definitely deserved the head archivist position.”

“I was getting to that!”

Elias cleared his throat, and both heads turned to him. 

“Sasha? Is there something you would like to discuss?”

There was a pause. 

“Yeah,” said Sasha hesitantly. “Yeah, there is.”

“Thank you. Tim, if you would be so kind-”

“Say no more,” said Tim. And then he left, leaving Sasha with finger guns and a winning smile.

_ Well, _ thought Sasha.  _ No backing out now.  _

“I came here to talk to you about the head archivist position?”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“I think… I think my skill set better suits the requirements of the job, and I urge you to reconsider the appointment of head archivist,” she recited. She had rehearsed this conversation. Several times. She hoped Elias couldn’t tell.

“And this isn’t because you dislike the current archivist personally?”   
  


“Not at all,” said Sasha truthfully.

“Hmm.” Elias contemplated for a moment. “You may have a point.”

“Thank you.”

“Is that all?”

“I actually did have a question about that statement…”

\---

Tim was waiting for Sasha outside the door when she opened it. 

“So… how’d it go?” 

“You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?”   
  


“I was,” Tim admitted. “But still!”

“I don’t think it went  _ badly, _ but I think he could tell it was rehearsed.”

“You were prepared! Never a bad thing.”

“He did say he’d consider my words, though.”

“He did!”

“He did.”

Tim turned to face Sasha suddenly. “You know you’re right, don’t you? That you deserve the position?”

“Well, I don’t know about  _ deserve _ -”

“Fine, more qualified.”

“Yes, thank you, Tim.”

“I’m proud of you for doing this!”

Sasha felt a small smile spread across her face. “Thanks, Tim.”

“Hey, what are maybe-boyfriends for?”

\---

Jon was beginning to suspect a coup being staged against him.

First, it had been the looks. Every time Sasha did something well, or kindly, or, well,  _ anything _ , Tim would give her a look. This look could have, logically, been a trademark Tim Stoker I-Think-You’re-Cool-And-Also-Let’s-Kiss look. But Jon had  _ seen _ that particular look several times in his years at the Institute, and this was not one of them. This was a  _ smug _ look, an I-Told-You-So look, and Jon didn’t like it one bit.

Next, Martin had started avoiding him. Usually, it was Jon avoiding Martin: he swore the man would be able to find him in a maze to bring him a mug of chai. But the last few times he had seen him, he had seemed almost guilty. He supposed Martin was in on it, too. 

And now, this. Sasha and Tim had left for Elias’ office fifteen minutes ago. When he had questioned Martin about it, he had muttered something about a statement follow-up and left the room as quickly as possible. 

His assistants’ dislike with his leadership wasn’t exactly  _ surprising _ , seeing as he wasn’t exactly the most sociable person. At least being demoted would result in a less… well, a less complicated workload. It was probably for the best. At least Sasha would be able to figure out Gertude’s disaster of an archive. 

Sasha and Tim had returned from upstairs, their footsteps passing by Jon’s office while they whispered excitedly. It seemed like this office wouldn’t be Jon’s much longer…

\---

“... it will be the both of your office,” stated Elias, “because I am appointing Sasha as your co-archivist.”

“ _ What? _ ” exclaimed Jon and Sasha in unison. 

“You will both be fulfilling the duties of head archivist, as it seems that even Gertrude was finding it difficult to do so on her own, even with the help of her assistants. Jon, don’t act so surprised, you’ve come to me numerous times with complaints of inadequate statement follow-ups.”

Jon coughed, an embarassed look on his face. 

“This was the logical conclusion. I trust this will be the best for the both of you. Any questions?”

“No, thank you,” said Sasha.

Jon shook his head, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Good. You’re both free to go, Archivists.”


	2. Ceramic Cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like a should give a content warning of general food talk in the last section of this chapter: there’s no eating disorder talk or anything, just be aware that it’s there. thanks for reading! :)

June 1st, 2015

—-

Sasha made sure to get to the Institute early that morning. Jon was always there before her, and she figured that she should at least _try_ to get to work around the same time as him. That way, he might be able to spend some extra time explaining her new duties as head archivist.

Wow. Head Archivist Sasha James. That was her, now. 

She was glad Elias hadn’t demoted Jon; he didn’t deserve that, he had earned the position just as much as she had. This way, she’d be able to use her skills to their full potential, while not having to do it alone. Which was good! It was great, even!

She still felt bad, though. 

Sasha was sure Jon wasn’t happy about the change. Maybe she should have asked him, beforehand, or at least given him a heads-up that she was confronting Elias about the situation. Why had she let Tim talk her into doing that? She was dreading the confrontation with Jon, honestly, and how his face would close off like he had that one time when Martin had-

“Morning, Sasha.”

Sasha let out a sound that was hardly human, stumbling until she caught her footing. “Oh, Jon, good morning.”

“Since you’re here early, I suppose I should show you what we’re working with. Since you’re my co-archivist now.”

“Oh!” said Sasha. “Sure! That’d be great.”

“Excellent. If you’ll just come with me…”

——

The archives were far messier than Sasha thought.

She’d been inside a few times, but never in such a position that she needed to look closely at its contents. There were statements from 2011 next to ones from 1893, blue-coded statements next to red-coded ones, and Sasha couldn’t make sense of it.

“What do these tabs mean?” she asked Jon, holding up a folder.

“I know just as much as you do about these archives ,” Jon sighed, putting down the stack of statements he had been rifling through. “Elias told me he couldn’t make sense of Gertrude’s system, either, and it’s not like she would have told me about it herself”

“There’s no established system?”

“If there was one, it’s probably beat to hell by now.” He scoffed. “Did she ever mention anything to you? You were probably the one out of the four of us that she actually liked.”

“Nope.”

“Quite the predicament we find ourselves in.”

“Seems wrong that she’d leave the archives such a disaster, though. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d leave them in this state.”

“You didn’t see how she talked to Elias. Didn’t seem like she took her position seriously.” Jon sighed, and gave Sasha a small smile. “We’ll keep looking.”

“Thanks.”

Sasha ducked back behind the bookshelf she had been scouring. Its shelves resembled, vaguely, a uni students’ desk. Which was to say, the most disorganised mess she had ever had the displeasure of making. 

She picked a statement off the shelf. 

_Statement of Amelia Yates,_ the header read, _regarding an unpleasant experience with the dark and its contents._

Sasha returned the statement to its folder and put it back neatly on the shelf.

If she had a nickel for everytime she had had an unpleasant experience with the dark.

\---

Some time later, Sasha found herself at her newly moved desk, rearranging photos and bric-a-brac across the wooden surface.

She liked to keep her desk homey. It was already a nerve-wracking experience to take a visit to the Magnus Institute- what was more intimidating was having to pass what seemed like rows and rows of monochrome desks and offices on your way to the statement room.

The least she could do was give a shaken statement-giver some mildly interesting knick-knacks to look at while they recanted their stories, instead of a blank, unforgiving surface of wood. 

Plus, blank desks were _boring._ They made her eyes wander. Tim said they made him want to get up and move somewhere with more _pizazz._

Sasha scanned her gaze over her newly decorated desk. So far, so good. 

A noise came from the door to the newly deemed Head Archivists’ Office. 

“Come in,” said Sasha.

It was Martin who poked in his head. “Elias says he wants to see you, Sasha,” he said. 

“Thanks, Martin.”

“No problem.” Martin shot a glance at Jon, who was now rifling through a stack of papers on his desk in frustration. He closed the door with a soft _click._

Sasha stood up from her desk, picked up a ceramic cat from her desk and replaced it on Jon’s.

Jon looked up in confusion for a moment, and Sasha left for Elias’ office.

This time, Elias seemed to already have been waiting for her, the door propped open to the nearly empty hallway.

“Thank you for coming, Sasha. Would you mind closing the door behind you?”

“No problem,” said Sasha, nudging the door shut behind her. 

“How is your first day as head archivist going?”

Sasha fidgeted nervously with a bracelet on her wrist. “It’s going great, thanks,” she said. 

“No problems?”

“No. Well, we’re still trying to figure out the filing system, but that’s about it.”

Elias nodded sagely. “I’m afraid you won’t find much rhyme or rhythm to it. I certainly haven’t.”

“Jon mentioned.”

“There’s a statement I’d like you to look into, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all!” said Sasha.

“Excellent. The research department was having trouble discerning what exactly the statement was saying. Some of the people who give statements aren’t the most eloquent, as people tend to be after a particularly rattling experience. This particular one… there seems to be a bit of French grammar and vocabulary mixed in. I understand you are familiar with the language, so you may have more luck in deciphering its contents.”

Sasha nodded. “Is that all?”

“Yes, unless you have any questions.”

“I don’t have any. Questions, that is. Thank you!”

“Thank you, Sasha.”

\---

At five o’ clock on the dot, Tim sauntered into the head archivists’ office. 

“Tim, could you knock-” Jon started, but Tim cut him off before he could finish. 

“Alas!” he cried with a flourish of his arms. “A new archivist have we! A celebration is in order, I fear! What doth thou think, Martin?”

“Er, methinks the like, Tim,” said Martin from the door, who Sasha assumed had been dragged into this. 

“A festivity we shall have! At Harriet’s Shack Of Freezing Cultured Milk!”

“You can just say frozen yoghurt, Tim,” laughed Sasha.

“After our labours of the day are complete, I propose we venture onwards!” exclaimed Tim grandly. “By which I mean, in thirty minutes’ time! I expect we will see you there, Madam Archivist?”

“You shall.”

“Jon? What say you?”

Jon, who appeared to have been trying to hide behind a statement folder, looked up at the mention of his name. “Hmm?”

“Frozen yoghurt. Five-thirty,” repeated Tim, his arms still spread extravagantly in the air. 

“Oh. Sure?” said Jon. 

“Excellent! Let the festivities commence!” 

\---

Sasha decided on strawberry fro-yo. Piled with chocolate shavings and strawberries, of course. 

She slid into the booth beside Tim, who was currently engaged in a heated discussion over whether frozen yoghurt constituted as a dessert.

“I’m just _saying_ , nobody would call un-frozen yoghurt a dessert. A snack, sure, but not a _dessert._ It’s frozen milk!”

“There’s sugar in it,” Martin pointed out.

“So? There’s sugar in most condiments. Would you say Heinz is a dessert?”

“Do you eat Heinz on its own, Tim?” asked Jon.

“No, but you don’t eat fro-yo on its own either,” Tim said, pointing at the cookie dough bits covering Martin’s bowl.

“Frozen yoghurt is the main course,” cried Martin, “it’s got its own condiments!”

“So, you argue that it’s a meal, Martin?” Tim took a bite of his fro-yo: an orange flavour of some kind, covered in coconut flakes. 

“I didn’t-” Martin sighed, putting his head in his hands for a moment. “It was a metaphor.”

“According to the dictionary,” said Jon, phone in hand, “a dessert is ‘the sweet course eaten at the end of a meal.’ Since it is currently five thirty in the afternoon, this particular frozen yoghurt does not count as a dessert, but as a snack. I fear we may have lost this battle, Martin.”

“A battle well fought,” said Martin.

“And one I fought better!” cried Tim.

“Bad sport,” muttered Sasha, not unkindly. 

“So what snack have you, Bossman?” said Tim.

“Don’t call me that,” said Jon, but still turned his bowl wordlessly in Tim’s direction. Plain chocolate with cherries.

“Oh! I get to call you ‘Bosswoman’ now!” Tim exclaimed, turning towards Sasha.

“You absolutely cannot,” Sasha responded.

“Bosslady?”

“I like that even less.”

“Point taken.”

“Why do you listen to her and not me?” asked Jon exasperatedly.

“Because she’s Sasha,” said Tim. 

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Sure it does. You just haven’t figured out how yet.” Tim leaned back against the pleather seat. 

“So, Sasha, how was your first day as head archivist?” asked Martin politely, changing the subject.

“Okay, I guess. Elias gave me an ‘assignment’ halfway through the day,” Sasha said, miming air quotes. 

“He did?” asked Jon.

“Isn’t it usually you giving us work?” asked Martin.

“That’s what I thought too. But apparently no-one could make sense of it- mix of English and French. Spooky stuff makes some people jumble their words, and all that.”

“Eugh,” said Jon.

“What?” Sasha asked. 

“Nothing. I just hate that word. Too… simplified.”

“What, spooky?” 

Jon made another face of disgust. 

“You work at the _Magnus Institute_ ,” said Tim, “how do you have such a low tolerance for adjectives of ‘scary?’”

“‘Scary’ is fine. Literally anything but that monstrosity of a word is fine.”

“Statement of Jonathan Sims regarding the terrifying experience of hearing the word ‘spooky’ being said aloud,” said Tim. “A day he’ll never forget.”

“Shut up,” mumbled Jon, then grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire fic will probably be as self-indulgent as the last bit. I will not apologize for this. 
> 
> please do tell me if I made a grammar error or something: I don’t edit this fic a ton, because part of the reason I don’t write much is because I’m too busy editing something else haha. please do comment in general, too! have a great day!!
> 
> edit: I DID have to change the date because I messed up the timeline already. This will probably not be the first time it happens, but I’ll try my best to stop it from happening.


	3. Assignments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has some thoughts. Sasha does her job. Elias is just... well, Elias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if my characterizations are bad it’s because i don’t have the motivation to sit down and plan them out. Also, I swear Tim and Martin will get screen time soon, I just wanted to do two full chapters from Sasha and Jon’s POVs, respectively.

July 29th, 2015

It had been nearly two months since Sasha had been appointed as his co-archivist, and Jon still couldn’t figure out  _ why _ .

When, in the entire history of the Magnus Institute, had there ever been two archivists?

It wasn’t as if Jon thought the decision was a bad one. Sasha had been the obvious choice for archivist from the start, what with her perfect combination of people skills and smarts. The archive was a much more orderly place with her in it.    
  


What he couldn’t understand was this: why had Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute and unofficial preserver of Institute tradition, changed the entire archiving system on a whim?

Jon could remember several times that Elias had refused perfectly practical changes to the Institute in favour of “maintaining tradition.” Jon doubted that Jonah Magnus would come back from the dead just to nag Elias for green-lighting an Institute Facebook page, but Elias had refused nonetheless. 

So why had he appointed two archivists? Why not just one? 

A coverup for his last-minute archivist switch, no doubt.

Sasha had always been the obvious choice for head archivist, not him. Sasha knew it, too: that’s why she’d stood up for herself. Tim had been the one apparently convincing Sasha to do so, so Tim’s opinions on the matter were clear. Martin always seemed to be fidgeting with  _ something _ when he was in the room. Even Gertrude Robinson had thought so; Sasha was one of the only people Gertrude hadn’t completely ignored. 

He’d always been overly invested in his work and Elias knew it. This was why, Jon assumed, he’d appointed Sasha his co-archivist instead of admitting his mistake and demoting him. Why hadn’t he just talked to him? Jon and Sasha weren’t children fighting over a toy. He could handle rejection, and he’d much rather Elias just  _ talk _ to him instead of tiptoeing around him every time they spoke. 

What was more, it seemed like Elias wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that Jon was only Head Archivist as a sort of consolation prize. Every few days, he’d call Sasha up to his office and give her an “assignment,” each time with a different excuse as to why. One day it was because of a particularly interesting take on the morality of man. The next, a statement that Elias had wanted Sasha’s opinion on, because it contained some rather contradictory tidbits regarding ghosts. 

Jon, however, had been called into Elias’ office one time in the past month. A meeting specifically to ask Jon whether he’d figured out Gertrude’s filing system. A meeting which had lasted about three minutes. 

It was likely that Sasha knew why he was still a head archivist. Jon figured she was just too nice to say anything. 

He looked up at her now, from his desk. Sasha was rifling through what appeared to be another statement, in her hands at Elias’ request. Sasha looked up from her work, squinting at Jon over her glasses. 

“What’s on your mind, Jon?” asked Sasha.

“Nothing.”

Sasha gave him a Look. She seemed to be giving Jon a lot of Looks, recently.

“I-” stammered Jon, eyes darting back and forth across the room, looking for an answer. Any answer. “Do you want your cat back?”   
  


“My what?”

“Your cat,” Jon said, holding up the ceramic cat that had been living on his desk for the past few months. “You didn’t take it back.”

“That cat!” exclaimed Sasha. “You can keep it. I have enough knick-knacks as is.”

“Oh,” said Jon awkwardly. “Thanks.”

There was a pause.

“You like cats?” Jon asked.

Sasha lit up. “Absolutely I do. You have one?”

“I did, in uni. Do you?”   
  


“Two! You want to see some pictures?” asked Sasha, and then didn’t wait for an answer as she rolled her chair across the cramped office. On her phone was a picture of two tawny-coloured, and extremely furry, cats.

“Are those detective hats?”

Sasha beamed. “This was Hallowe’en. That’s Sherlock, and that’s Watson,” she said, pointing at the screen. The one she deemed as Watson seemed to be having a splendid time, while the other wore what Jon assumed as the feline equivalent of a frown.

“Ah. Hence the costumes.”

“Hence the costumes.” Sasha showed him a few more pictures. “What was your cat’s name? That you had in uni, I mean.”

“It was my ex-girlfriend’s cat, technically. His name was The Admiral.”

“That,” said Sasha, “is a  _ good  _ cat name.”

Jon laughed.

\----

Jon found himself in Elias’ office an hour later.

What was that saying again, about karma?

“I suspect you know why you’re here,” said Elias.

“I suppose I do.” To correct his mistake. The only question was why it had taken so long.

“As you are aware, the archives remain in a state of chaos.” Jon supposed it wasn’t helping that they were short one archival assistant. “What I am asking of you-”

“I know,” Jon interrupted. “You’re demoting me to archival assistant so that I can better organise them. I completely understand the decision.”

Elias blinked. “I was going to ask if you would record audio versions of statements, Jon.”

Huh. 

That made sense.

“You didn’t honestly think I asked you into my office to demote you, did you?”

“I… did, actually,” said Jon, feeling a little foolish.

“You may be correct about our lack of archival assistants, though. Maybe I ought to keep an eye out.” Elias cleared his throat. “So, as I was saying. The archive is severely lacking in terms of audio statements. Do you think you could record some digital versions of statements for the archive? I recall Gertrude saying she was going to, but I don’t think she ever got the chance.”

“Of course,” said Jon.

“Excellent.”

\----

So, it seemed that Elias was not pitying Jon. 

Then why on Earth were there two archivists?

Jon couldn’t seem to get the question out of his head. 

It seemed he couldn’t get it out of his mouth quick enough, though.

“Why did he appoint two head archivists?” Jon said, walking into his and Sasha’s office and swiftly closing the door behind him. 

“Gah!” Sasha nearly toppled out of her chair. “Don’t  _ do _ that, Jon.”

“It just doesn’t make any  _ sense. _ ”

“Jon,” said Sasha. “From the top. What seems to be the issue?”

Jon took a deep breath. “I can’t understand why Elias hired two head archivists. It’s not like him to just… reorder the system.”

Sasha paused. “Go on.”

“At first I thought he was just covering up a last-minute fix to make you archivist–don’t look at me like that, I know–but he doesn’t seem to regret the decision in the slightest.”

“So why do you think he did it?” 

“I don’t know! That’s the problem!” Jon gestured aimlessly with his hands, then looked back at Sasha. “I was hoping you might have an idea.”

“I don’t, really. Maybe it was like he said: it was the decision that made the most sense.”

“I suppose,” said Jon, but he still wasn’t convinced. 

“You have a point, though,” said Sasha. “It does seem… uncharacteristic.”

“Thank you.”

“Plus, he’s been giving me all this stuff to work through,” Sasha continued, sweeping her hand over her desk. “I’m fairly sure Gertrude Robinson didn’t have to analyse random statements because Elias thought she’d find them intriguing.”

“Sounds like you’re getting bored of those pretty fast.”   
  


“Tell me about it,” she groaned.

“I’d say that it’s your job, but I’m rather sure it isn’t, really.”

Sasha sighed, slumping down in her chair. She picked up a folder and began halfheartedly shuffling through it, before setting it back down with a  _ thwap. _ “Actually,” she said slowly, “would you mind helping me out with a few? He’s given me so many at this point, I can hardly keep up.”   
  


“Sure. Would you mind helping me record some statements?” 

“What are we, schoolchildren trading lunches?”   
  


“Perhaps.”

Sasha scooted her office chair in Jon’s direction and held her palm out towards him. “Deal.”   
  


Jon shook it.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this isn’t a JonSasha fic, I just think their friendship’s neat!


	4. Fairy Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Martin get screen time. Sasha receives more homework. Jon goes about business as usual.
> 
> CW for whatever you call the act of putting an idea into someone’s head and pretending it was theirs all along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven’t updated in a while!
> 
> Edit: I changed a scene around a bit, because it was giving off some Pretty Icky undertones that I didn't like. If you want to read the original chapter, shoot me an ask on Tumblr and I'll probably be able to post it there :)

October 18th, 2015

In Sasha’s absence, the assistant’s room had become increasingly boring. In Tim’s humble opinion, anyways.

Tim had decided that he was going to change that. 

He’d spent the last day at his desk, scouring the internet for any decor that caught his eye, and switching his browser tab whenever Jon got too close. He’d continued his search that evening, piling assorted items into a trolley to the point where the Hobbyloft cashier had brought up the fact that her sister was also an art teacher, and wasn’t it nice how kids these days were still crafting? 

Currently, he was stapling string lights to Martin’s desk, making sure not to snag the wire with the pin.

“Look wonderfully lo-fi, don’t you think?” said Tim, standing up to admire his work. 

Martin joined Tim at his vantage point, in front of the desk. “Ooh! Looks great. Thanks, Tim.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Except...”

“Except?”

“Don’t you think the cord is, ah,” Martin cleared his throat, gesturing to the extension cord on the floor. “A tripping hazard?”

“It’ll probably be fine.” Tim picked up the bag of ornaments and held it out to Martin. “Want to help with the rest?”

Martin shifted in his seat. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Come on,” nagged Tim, a drawl to his voice. 

Martin looked at him for a moment, then plucked the bag from his hands. “Fine, but it was  _ your _ idea if we get scolded.”

“Duly noted.”

\----

Sasha was on her way to Elias’ office. Again.

She was making a lot of trips to his office lately, it seemed. 

In her hand she held the archive’s tape recorder. She’d already had to record two entire statements on it when her laptop’s sub-par microphone proved itself incapable of processing their audio. It was about time the archive got a better recording system. 

Sasha knocked on the door, and Elias responded almost immediately. “Come in.”

She stepped inside the office and closed the door behind, a movement that was muscle memory at this point.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Elias said. 

“The tape recorder, I suppose.” Sasha waved the tape recorder in Elias’ general direction. 

He gestured for her to take a seat. She did. 

“I’ve been helping Jon out with recording statements,” Sasha started, “and I’ve been needing to use the tape recorder, since my laptop mic keeps cutting out. I was wondering if the archive had any, er, more modern recording equipment we’ve missed? Other than the laptops, of course.”

“Not that I’m aware of. Is using the tape recorder a problem?”   
  


“Not entirely, but it’s likely not going to be the most efficient in the future.”

“Then I’m afraid we don’t have much of a budget for that,” said Elias. He looked at Sasha in a way that she couldn’t decide whether he was being sympathetic, patronising, or both. 

A pause. “You’ve been recording statements?” 

“Yes,” said Sasha. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Somewhat,” said Elias. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on the statements I’ve given you?”

“I have been,” Sasha lied. The work was still being done, and telling the truth wasn’t going to help her case. “I’ve had some extra time to help out, and since we’ve got nearly the entire archive left to store digitally, I figured I’d help some.”

“I see,” murmured Elias, but he didn’t look satisfied. “Are you saying I ought to give you more statements to follow up on?”

“That’s not entirely-”

Elias pulled out a stack of papers from his desk drawer and placed it in front of Sasha. “All you had to do was ask.”

“That’s okay, I’ve already got my hands full with the other ones.” 

“From what I hear, you have an awful lot of free time.”

“To do other archiving, yeah,” Sasha replied, then cursed herself internally. 

Elias frowned, and pushed the documents towards her wordlessly. 

Sasha held back a groan. She took the papers, lifting them from the desk like they were a dead mouse Elias had dropped at her feet.

“Thank you,” she muttered, flashing Elias a faux smile before leaving the office once again.

\----

Jon barely looked up from his computer when a stack of paper hit his desk. Then, he heard Sasha groaning, and closed his laptop with a sigh.

“What is it this time?” he asked her, not unkindly.

Sasha threw herself into her chair dramatically before she finally spoke. “ _ Elias _ ,” she griped, then failed to elaborate.

Jon waited as Sasha shrunk further into her chair. He spared a look at the pile. 

“More statements?” he asked, pulling the documents towards himself.

Sasha made a sound Jon took as affirmation. “All because I complained about the rubbish recording equipment. I don’t think he likes the idea of my recording statements instead of reading his boring stories.”

“Sounds like Elias.” Jon began shuffling through the stack. 

“And then he acted like it was all  _ my _ idea. I asked for a half-decent microphone, not more ‘assignments’.” 

“Mm.” Ghost stories. Spiders. Things that went bump in the night. Boring archiving work, but Jon liked it that way. 

“I’m sorry for giving you more work.”

“It’s alright. I’ll manage.” Jon put the papers down and looked at Sasha. “How’s the recording coming along, anyways? Apart from the quality.”

“S’alright. I like it more than those statements Elias gave me, anyway. How’s your homework?”

“Not bad.They’re not so much ‘scary’ as ‘off-putting’, at the best of times. They’re all obviously fake,” he scoffed, “but it’s… interesting to see what people come up with, in their statements.”

“Ah, Jon. Still at it with the skeptic gambit, are you?” asked Sasha.

“So it seems.”

“You can’t seriously work at The Magnus Institute and not believe at least a little bit in the supernatural, Jon.” Sasha waggled the tape recorder at him mischievously. 

“Call me a walking contradiction, then.”

“And you work here anyway?” 

Jon felt a pang of annoyance at this. “I work here because boring office jobs are a London staple. What about  _ you _ , Sasha?” he said, a little too spitefully. 

If Sasha was hurt by his demand, she didn’t show it. “That’s a tale for another day.”

There was an awkward pause. Jon opened his laptop again. Sasha picked up the tape recorder. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I should probably catch up on some statements,” said Sasha, breaking the silence.

“What’s this once about?” said Jon. He couldn’t  _ stand  _ the tension in the room.

“Something about…” Sasha peeked into the folder. “...’the alleged disappearance’ of someone’s acquaintance, whatever that means.”

Jon hummed. “Have fun with that.”

Sasha gave him a thumbs-up, and the door closed behind her.

A _thunk_ came from the assistant’s room. 

“Goddamn it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear Martin will be here more in the future. Thanks for reading!


	5. Mandatory Holiday Episode ft. Mariah Carey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets some tea. Sasha does some work. Tim and Martin hatch a plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter; I wanted to get something out for the holidays :)

December 18th, 2015

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Jon flinched at the sudden noise. Looking cautiously over his shoulder, his eyes caught on a shadow, standing behind him. It was stretching its hand out, reaching, offering… tea?

Of course. What else could it be?

Jon took the proffered mug from Martin’s hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Martin hovered in the doorway to the archive. 

“It’s, uh. Holiday tea,” Martin said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Gingerbread spice, or something of the like.”

Jon took an experimental sip. “Not bad.” 

“Thanks.”

“Is Sasha still recording in the office?” Jon asked. He’d been standing around in the archive for nearly twenty minutes. As was the usual.

“I think she’s finished up by now. I think I interrupted her earlier, to be honest.”

Jon nodded. “Thank you for the tea, Martin,” he said, gathering his things.

“If you wanted to,” Martin blurted, “you could, you know, work in the assistants’ room for a bit while Sasha records. Seeing as there aren’t really any desks in here.” 

“Thank you for the offer, Martin, but I fear I wouldn’t get much work done, with Tim around.” 

“Well, if you ever change your mind.”

Jon dipped his head and returned to the office, mug in hand. 

Sasha grinned at him tiredly from her chair. 

“Long statement?” Jon asked. He practically threw himself onto his chair, finally relieved of standing. 

“As long as any.” Sasha twisted one of her braids around her finger, a subconscious gesture. “Man, these things really take it out of me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Jon asked. 

“I could ask you the same thing. Those statements don’t seem very exciting.”

“All the more reason to stick to them. These ones don’t involve copious amounts of meat.”

“What about that one with the haunted bacon you told me about?” asked Sasha, smirking.

“Except that.”

\---

Martin watched as Tim fumbled with his laptop, grimacing over the display.

“Need some help?” he asked hesitantly.

Tim grumbled in response from his place on the floor.

They had been planning this scheme for weeks now; or, rather, Tim had been. Martin had cut in occasionally with ideas that made Tim rub his hands together evilly.

The plan in and of itself wasn’t all that complicated, but more difficult than it seemed. Auxiliary cords were only so long, as it turned out. 

Still. Neither of them were determined to let the plan fail. 

Tim clicked a few more times and sat back, looking satisfied. “Everything’s in order.”

Martin nodded determinedly.

“Would you like to do the honours?” asked Tim.

“Why, thank you.” Martin leaned over Tim to get to the laptop. His hands hovered over the keypad.

“Three… Two… One.”

His index finger pressed  _ play _ .

_ “I… don’t want a lot for Christmas…” _

Martin grinned.

_ “There is just one thing I need…” _

“What the hell?” he heard Jon say through the wall.

_ “I don’t care about the presents…” _

The music continued from inside the archivists’ office.

_ “Underneath the Christmas tree…” _

A giggle sounded from inside. Sasha.

_ “I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know.” _

Tim began to cackle.

_ “Make my wish come true… all I want for Christmas…” _

A wicked grin spread across Martin’s face.

_ “Is… you!” _

Beside him, Tim mimed playing the piano instrumental. 

“ _ Tim! _ ” yelled Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (some late) Holidays!


	6. There's A Seven-Foot-Tall Monster In My Home And He's Not Very Polite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon frets a lot. Martin is put under house arrest. Sasha is responsible. Tim experiences worms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter are as follows:  
> -Bugs (worms)  
> -Gore  
> -Impromptu surgery  
> -Fear/panic  
> -Imprisonment  
> -Food in general (not in excessive detail)  
> -Body horror  
> -Tryphophobia (once again, worms.)
> 
> enjoy! :3

March 2nd, 2016

Martin wasn’t at work today.

Tim was bored, as he often was when Martin wasn’t there. 

On those rare occasions, he took to wandering the Institute, under the guise of printing paperwork or visiting the library. 

Unfortunately, he’d already used up those excuses the day before, so Sasha was the sole release of his dull work. Sasha, and the “No Internet” dinosaur game on his laptop. He figured his high score rivaled that of the most skilled video gamers.

Tim’s dinosaur ran into a cactus. Again.

He sighed, and pressed the space bar. Again.

\---

March 4th, 2016

Martin wasn’t at work today. 

This wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Everyone got sick every once in a while, right?

Jon was worried anyway. 

He’d texted Martin the night before, lack of technology expertise be damned.

**Jonathan Sims:**

Good evening.

He’d never been good at texting.

**Martin Blackwood:**

good evening :)

**Jonathan Sims:**

Are you alright? You haven’t shown up for work in a few days.

**Martin Blackwood:**

i’ll be alright in a few days

i think i caught a bug of some kind

thanks for checking up on me though :)

**Jonathan Sims:**

Get well soon, then.

Colon. End parentheses.

:)

And so it had gone.

\---

March 4th, 2016

Martin wasn’t at work today.

Sasha knew there was something deepy, deeply wrong about his absence. 

She didn’t know why she had such a strong feeling. It wasn’t as though Martin had disappeared into thin air. He’d been answering her texts. 

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

This certainty, this _Knowing-_ it was new to her. A feeling, like the kind you get when the air turns heavy and humid and you know it’s going to rain, only worse, somehow.

Sasha had been feeling like this almost all week. She didn’t like it one bit.

She had decided that the only way to stop the feeling was to do something about it. 

“I’m going to see Martin,” she told Jon abruptly that day.

“Okay,” he said.

“Do you want to come with me?”

Jon contemplated for a moment. “Sure.”

Tim had said the same thing.

And so here she was in the lobby of Martin’s residential building, flowers in hand. Jon carried a tupperware container of samosas. Tim held his phone, checking the address. 

“I didn’t know you could cook, Jon,” said Tim.

“I don’t get much time to.”

Sasha leaned over Tim’s shoulder to look at his phone. “His flat’s on the fourth storey,” she muttered. “Elevator’s that way.”

“Ladies first,” said Tim, ushering Sasha towards the opening doors. Jon followed suit, inching past the family of four that had previously occupied the elevator. 

Jon made to push the button of Martin’s floor when something caught his eye. “It’s closed.”

“Hmm?” inquired Sasha.

“Martin’s floor. It’s closed. ‘For renovations.’”

The elevator doors began to close. Sasha stopped them. 

“We’re taking the stairs,” she said, and slipped out of the elevator before the others could argue. 

The door to the stairwell opened with ease﹘of course it did, this was a residential building, people needed the stairs - and Sasha stepped through it. Soon after came Tim and Jon. 

“What,” Jon asked, “the _hell_ was that.”

“What he said,” said Tim.

“We’re not going to be able to get to Martin’s floor by elevator. So, we’re going to do it manually,” replied Sasha. “By stairs.” She began her ascent.

“Sounds illegal,” Jon muttered.

“So does blocking off an entire residential floor ‘for renovations,’” Sasha replied.

“Fair enough,” said Tim, and followed her. “Team bonding via minor crime. Woo-hoo!”

“We don’t know that it wasn’t just the elevator that was blocked off,” said Jon. 

Sasha arrived at the door to floor four. It was barred shut.

Jon sighed. 

“I have a multitool, if that helps,” said Tim. 

“There aren’t any security cameras in the stairwell,” said Sasha.

Tim nodded, and began unscrewing the bolts holding the bar to the wall.

“Are we just going with crime, then?” asked Jon.

“Yep,” answered Tim. 

“Great.”

The bar clattered to the floor. Tim stepped back, admiring his work. “This wasn’t even professionally done,” he muttered. “Definitely _not_ renovations. The landlord probably blocked it off themselves.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tim,” said Sasha. 

Jon yelped from his place behind them. Tim and Sasha whirled at the sound.

“Nothing,” he said, in response to their stares. “Just a… a maggot, or something. Nasty thing. Caught me off guard.”

“Shitty landlord,” said Tim, and set to picking the lock.

“You know what you’re doing, Tim?” asked Sasha, after a moment.

“A bit. Taught myself to lockpick in ninth grade. Thought it would impress dates.” Tim raised his eyebrows, removing the multitool as the door swung open. “Are you impressed?”

“Sure. Let’s go,” answered Sasha. 

The hallway behind was dark, and Sasha had to squint to see. Behind her, she glimpsed Jon pull a flashlight keychain out of his pocket, tucking the Tupperware under his arm in doing so. Fumbling with the chain, he turned it on.

A woman. Surrounded by hundreds of bulging, grotesque shapes. Worms.

Tim spoke first. “What the fu-”

All of a sudden, everything was noise and chaos and _worms._ Thousands of the slimy things, hissing and oozing and slithering up her legs. Sasha fumbled for the door, but heard it close behind. _Shit._

Jon had seen this, and had committed himself to trying every door in the hall. Sasha did the same, as she was sure Tim was as well. Locked. Locked. Locked. Locked. 

Unlocked?

Sasha swung open the door, but stumbled back as her eyes failed to process what she was seeing. 

A tall, distorted figure unfolded itself from behind the door. Wrong in every way. Huge, bony hands, and a grin too large for its face.

“Need a hand?”

Sasha screamed. 

The figure smiled, a horrid, unnatural expression on such a creature. It unfurled a hand, and then an arm, and reached around the doorframe, feeling along the wall. Not once did it take its eyes off Sasha, nor its smile. Its horrible, horrible smile.

Behind herself, Sasha was dimly aware of the worm horde, and of Tim and Jon swatting wildly at it in a futile attempt to quell it. 

The figure’s hand found its target. The glass case of a fire extinguisher, embedded in the wall. It broke the casing with a single tap of their finger and tossed it at Sasha.

“Catch,” it said in its unnatural voice. Like nails dragging down a blackboard.

Sasha caught the canister, fingers fumbling around the handle. She stared at it for a long moment. 

“Spray it, Archivist.” Taunting her. 

Sasha pulled the pin out of the canister and sprayed. Almost immediately, the worms receded from its path. But it still wasn’t enough.

The creature threw two more canisters at her, barely missing hitting her. 

Sasha picked them up and kept spraying. 

Through the cacophony of worms, Sasha could now make out the figure she had seen before. A woman, disheveled and inhuman, and full of… holes. Wearing a long, ratty red dress. 

She was looking right at Sasha. 

Sasha aimed the nozzle at her and sprayed. 

Almost immediately, the worm horde retreated as the woman stumbled backwards. Sasha kept spraying.

All of a sudden, the worms were gone; at least, those of them who weren’t already dead. The hallway quieted, leaving Sasha’s ears ringing. 

“What,” said Tim, “the _fuck_ was that.”

“Good question,” Sasha replied.

The door creature laughed, or wheezed. It was hard to tell.

Strangely enough, she’d nearly forgotten about it. 

“You,” she said. “Who are you?”

“You could start with a ‘thank you,’ Archivist,” it replied.

“How did you know-”

“Martin?” she heard Jon call. 

He was standing in front of a flat door, set apart from the others by the towels and blankets protruding from underneath. Martin’s, she assumed.

“Oh, hell,” muttered Sasha. She strode towards Jon. “Martin?”

“You in there, mate?” asked Tim tentatively. 

The door swung open.

Behind it- Martin. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed.

“It’s really you.” Martin leaned against the doorway, looking close to collapse. “I was in there for- I dunno, three days, and I- I couldn’t leave, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t-” he stopped to catch his breath. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” said Tim. “I’d come closer, but, you know.” He plucked a worm off of his jumper. “Worms.”

Jon waved awkwardly.

“Hey, Tim?” Martin’s face was white as a sheet.

“Yeah?” 

“Fairly sure a worm just ate through your sleeve.”

“Ah, fuck - are these things carnivorous, perchance?” 

The door creature cleared its throat with a styrofoam squeak. “You’d know that if you’d let me speak.”

“Shit,” said Tim, pulling off his jumper in panic. 

“What the hell is that?” asked Martin, backing into his flat

In seconds, the creature strode across the hall, and dug its long, long fingers into Tim’s arm.

Tim shrieked. The creature pulled back, looking satisfied. 

Between its fingers, it held a silver, writhing thing. A worm. 

“You’re welcome,” it said. “You’ve got more in your leg. Would you like me to get them for you?”

“Absolutely not,” said Tim, recoiling.

“Become a flesh-hive, then, It’s all the same to me.”

Martin cleared his throat. 

“That might be easier in- in here,” he said quietly, looking as though he already regretted the words. 

“Thank you, Martin,” said Jon, who had been relatively silent throughout the catastrophe. He ducked inside the flat, followed by Sasha, Tim, and the hand creature, who had to stoop so as to not hit the doorframe. Tim threw himself onto the sofa, Martin following soon after, still looking faint. Sasha leaned on the coffee table, looking everywhere but to where the creature was now performing impromptu surgery on Tim. Jon perched himself onto the arm of the sofa, drumming his fingers on the lid of the miraculously intact Tupperware. Sasha recalled the flowers, regretting not returning for them.

It was Tim who spoke first. “So I take it you’re not exactly﹘ ow﹘sick then, huh?”

“What?” asked Martin, pulled out of his thoughts. 

“You told us you were sick, Martin,” said Jon.

“What?” Martin repeated. “I mean- I didn’t have my phone, or anything.”

Jon hummed. “She must have been texting us from your phone. The woman in the hall.”

Martin sighed. “Jane Prentiss.”

“Jane Prentiss?” asked Sasha abruptly. “From Hodge’s statement?”

“The very same. At- at least I think,” said Martin.

Tim stood tentatively from his place on the sofa, the creature’s job done. “Have you got any bandages, or anything?”

Martin handed him a first aid kit. “Prentiss was at my door for a while,” he said, in response to their questioning glances. “I wanted to be ready.”

The creature beckoned to Sasha to sit. Of course - why had she thought she’d be exempt? She took Tim’s place on the sofa, while Tim claimed the floor to bandage his wounds. Jon descended wordlessly to help him.

“Make sure it wipes down its fingers,” said Martin, pointing towards the first aid kit.

“I’m not an animal,” the creature muttered, pulling the antiseptic wipes out of the case.

“You still haven’t told us who you are,” said Sasha, looking pointedly at the creature in front of her. 

“I am not a who, Archivist-”

“Answer the question, please.”

The creature sighed. “You may call me Michael.”

“Is that your name?”

“It is a name, yes.”

“Cryptic,” muttered Tim. 

“Also, why do you keep calling me Archivist?”

“You are the Archivist, are you not?” said Michael.

“Not the only one,” Jon huffed.

“Why are you here?” Sasha asked. 

The room fell silent. 

“I want to help,” said Michael. His voice hurt her ears.

Tim scoffed.

Seat rotation. Jon took Sasha’s seat, Sasha took Tim’s, Tim took Martin’s, and Martin took Jon’s. Round and round went the carousel. 

“With what?” asked Martin. “Jane Prentiss?”

“Oh, something like that,” Michael replied. 

The room was silent for a brief moment, save for Jon’s hisses of pain.

Finally, Michael stood up, leaving Jon wincing on the sofa. It stomped a few times on the accumulated pile of worms for good measure. “I’ll see myself out.”

“You still haven’t told us anything useful,” Tim protested.

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. Tim, was it?”

“Wh-”

“Best of luck with everything. Remember the fire extinguishers.” Michael ducked out of the flat.

“Was that door there before?” asked Tim.   
  


No one answered him.

“Alright.”

Martin, as the only physically unharmed person in the room, claimed the roll of bandages and scissors and sat beside Jon.

“Oh, wait, the samosas-” muttered Jon. “There, by the sofa.” He nodded towards the container on the ground.

“You made me food?” Martin asked softly. “I didn’t know you could cook, Jon.”

“Why does everyone-” Jon hissed in pain.

Sasha cleared her throat. 

“I think a statement is in order,” she said quietly, looking at Martin.

“Right,” he sighed. “I’d rather, uh. Not be in here for longer than we need to be, though.”

“At the Institute?” asked Sasha. 

“Yeah.”

“There’s a room in the Archives you can stay in, if you need,” said Jon. “In case Prentiss does come back.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Martin, taken aback. “Uh, thanks.”

“Alright, then,” said Tim. “Let’s go.”

“I should probably pack a bag, or something,” said Martin. 

“Good idea,” said Sasha. “You might be staying there for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wow, Glock! Two chapters in two days?" I know. I'm as confused as you are
> 
> Guess what! I have a Tumblr now- @ glockmonkey . Feel free to drop into my asks to tell me what you think of the fic :)


	7. Sasha Brings Out The Blackboard (scary!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin settles in. Sasha finds a blackboard. Jon and Tim participate in a rather depressing group meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I left a LOT of empty spaces in the last chapter, so here's a short chapter to fill the gaps :)
> 
> CWs for this chapter are:
> 
> -Minor trypophobia (small discussion of Prentiss)  
> -Shock (Minor, not discussed in extensive detail)  
> -More worm talk  
> (Let me know if I forgot anything!)

March 4, 2016

Martin dropped onto the cot Jon had finished setting up only moments before. He shook off the irritation of his work going to waste so quickly.

“Rough statement?” he asked Martin.

  
“I don’t want to talk about it. You can listen to the tape, if you want,” said Martin, “but I’m sure Sasha will catch you up on it soon enough.”

“Where is Sasha, anyways?”

“Gone to find Elias. It’s a bit late, but she thinks he might still be around.”

“I could’ve done that,” muttered Jon, under his breath.

“Um. Thank you, by the way.” Martin said, ignoring him. “For the room.”

Jon shrugged. “It’s not like you had any other option.” 

“Yeah.”

They were silent, for a moment.

“You saw her, right?” asked Martin. “Jane?”

Jon shut his eyes. “I wish I hadn’t.” 

“Me neither.”

“So much for that whole skeptic bit, huh?” laughed Martin awkwardly. 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, um. Your whole ‘all these statements are ridiculous and fake’ attitude.” Martin’s impression of him was scarily accurate, but Jon didn’t say anything. 

“That’s because they are.” Jon scoffed. “The ones _I_ work on, anyway.”

“See! There’s at least some truth to them.”

“I’d rather not talk about this. How are you feeling?”

“I’d rather not talk about that either.”

“Okay.”  
  


“Okay.”

\----

“Alright everybody! Gather round, gather round.”  
  


“What’s this?” asked Martin. 

Tim’s head tilted in confusion. “Why do you have a blackboard?”

Sasha grinned. “You’ll see.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sasha saw Jon peek his head out of their shared office.

“What’s going on?” he asked. 

“Team meeting.” 

“Great,” Jon said, sighing. 

Martin rolled his chair in front of Sasha’s blackboard and sat down. Sasha picked up a piece of chalk. 

_‘What we know,”_ she wrote on one side. _“What we don’t,”_ she wrote on the other. 

“This is going to be about recent events,” she said, “so Martin, you’re free to opt out. I can fill you in later.”

Martin seemed to consider the possibility for a moment. “I’ll stay. I should probably be here for this.”

“Are you sure?”

Martin nodded.

“Where’s Elias?” asked Jon, taking a seat on the edge of Martin’s desk. 

“Elias,” said Sasha bitterly, “has decided that it is against his best interest to attend, even if evil monster worms are involved.”

“Undocumented parasites,” muttered Jon.

“I still don’t know why we need the blackboard,” said Tim.

“Organization! Now,” said Sasha. “What do we know about this recent escapade?”

Tim raised his hand.

“Yes, Tim?”

“CO₂ kills the worms,” he said. 

Sasha jotted it down. “What else?”

“That woman was probably Jane Prentiss,” said Jon. “Also, the worms eat flesh.” He cringed, apparently realizing the weight of his words. “Sorry.”

“All good.” _“Flesh-eating worms. Prentiss is (sort-of) alive and infested with them,”_ she wrote.   
  


“That door guy had _really_ sharp fingers,” said Martin.

“Anything else?” Sasha asked, noting down Martin’s addition.

The room was silent. Sasha moved on to the next column.

“What do we not know?”

“What is up with that guy’s doors?” said Tim.

“Why did Prentiss keep Martin captive?” asked Jon. 

“And,” added Martin, “where did she go?”

“Good questions, good questions,” said Sasha. “I, for one, would also like to know why that ‘Micheal’ helped us.” 

“And why he didn’t just help me when I was trapped in my flat for _four days,_ ” said Martin through gritted teeth.

“He seemed to know who we are, too,” said Jon. “He called you _‘Archivist.’_ ” 

Sasha finished writing out the information with a flourish.

Tim tilted his head and squinted. “Kind of a depressing list,” he said, eyeing the small amount of information they had.

“Only one thing to do about that,” said Sasha. “Hit the books! The statements, rather.” 

Tim groaned.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, The Fault In Our Stars. My favourite TMA fic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, remember to drink water!!


	8. Sasha Has An Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha meets a hand man for the second time. A chorus of "Wait, What?"s are heard in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for:
> 
> -body horror (michael)  
> -deception/manipulation  
> -bug/parasite mention  
> -weapons
> 
> I don't think there are any more, but let me know if there are :)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

April 1st, 2016

Michael had been coffee-blocking Sasha all day, she was sure of it. 

She’d seen him thrice in two days, already: too many times, she was sure, for someone who could walk in and out of any place without using the front door. He’d made a point of making himself seen, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. To be a nuisance, at best. At worst, to stab her with his too-sharp hands, or to kidnap her into his strange yellow door.

Still, Sasha had  _ really  _ been looking forward to that overpriced coffee. Plus, the curiosity was killing her. 

So, she went after him. 

She had a pocket knife, as a counterweight to her impulsive decision. And, what did people say about meeting strangers? Always meet in a public place?

He was waiting for her, as she’d expected. He was sitting alone at a table for two, nursing a paper cup that Sasha guessed he hadn’t actually tried. She wondered if supernatural hand monsters  _ could _ drink coffee. 

He stared at her through the warped window of the coffeeshop.  _ Can’t back down now, _ she thought.

_ You could,  _ said another, more rational part of her brain. 

_ Nah. _

She sat down across from Michael at the table. He said nothing, just sat expectantly. Waiting. Watching.

“What do you want?” she asked him. 

“To have a conversation,” he responded. 

“About?”

“You know.”

“I don’t, actually,” said Sasha. 

“Oh, just.” Michael waved a sharp hand nonchalantly. “Everything.”

“The worms?”

“That’s part of it,” said Michael. “I’m sure you’ve noticed their continued presence.”

“Martin thought he saw one today,” murmured Sasha.

“Martin.” He nodded. “How is he?”

“What’s it to you? You could’ve saved him at any point in the time Prentiss had him trapped.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been boring, wouldn’t it? Very anticlimactic.”

“What do you want from us?” asked Sasha, her voice rising more than she’d expected. The employee at the till shushed her, seemingly oblivious to the situation taking place. 

“To help.”

“That’s what you said last time,” said Sasha, narrowing her eyebrows. 

“And it remains to be true.” Michael began poking holes into his coffee cup absentmindedly. The paper made a squeaking noise that made Sasha wince.

“Can you at least tell us what Prentiss wants?”

“Oh, Archivist.” Michael laughed, a sound more sigh than humour. “There are much more powerful forces at work here.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Hmm.” Michael seemed to ponder on it for a moment, before smirking. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”

“Then I will take my business elsewhere,” said Sasha, and got up from her chair to order some overpriced coffee. 

“There is something, though,” called Michael. 

Sasha whirled around, her skirt whipping around her ankles in a way that made her wish she’d worn thicker leggings for April.

“There are some worms that need exterminating, if you’re willing.”

Sasha stood for a moment, contemplating. 

“Let me drink my coffee, first,” she decided. 

\---

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Sasha came into work the next morning. 

“Hey. Where’s Jon?” she asked Tim, as soon as she entered the office.

“No ‘hello’?” 

“I said ‘hey.’ Where’s Jon?” she repeated. 

Tim sighed. “He’s up in Elias’ office again. I think he’s telling him off for not recording statements again.”

Sasha grimaced, and sat down on the edge of Tim’s desk.

“You’re in late,” he remarked. “Daredevil Sasha James, sleeping in.”

“Fighting killer worms really takes it out of you.”

“Wait,  _ what? _ ”

“I had a little adventure last night.” 

“Jeez.” Tim put a hand on Sasha’s cautiously. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Ask Timothy Hodge.”

“What happened?” he whispered.

Sasha touched a hand to her shoulder reflexively. Tim noticed a bulk there - bandages, probably. “I’ll let you listen to the statement in a few,” she said.

“You’re making a statement?” Tim asked incredulously. “Now? Shouldn’t you wait until Jon comes back?”

“I probably shouldn’t wait.” Sasha jumped down from Tim’s desk with a  _ fwump. _

“Okay,” said Tim quietly. “Let me know when you’re done.”

Sasha nodded, and headed back to the archivists’ office to do her work.

Tim would bet money that Sasha had done something impulsive again. Which, to be fair, he was also prone to doing. God, he just wished she’d  _ tell  _ someone beforehand. 

He watched her disappear behind the door. 

“Was that Sasha?” asked Martin, emerging from the break room.

“Yeah. She’s making a statement.”

“Wait,  _ what? _ ”

\---

When Jon sat down at his desk that afternoon, the first thing he noticed was Sasha’s listless form across from him.

He’d never been all that good at “people”-ing, so he decided she’d tell him the problem when she wanted to. 

Jon began leafing through the latest stack of Elias’ homework boredly.

It took thirty seconds, at most, for the Sasha-shaped mass to emit a groaning sound.

“Rough morning?” he asked, finally.

“Rough evening, more like,” said Sasha, raising her head slightly.

“Oh?” 

“Had a rendezvous with the Hand Man. Fought some worms.”

“Wait,  _ what? _ ”

“You’re the third person to say that today!” Sasha groaned.

“What happened?” 

In response, Sasha tossed a tape to him. Clearly, she was expecting him to catch it. Instead, it narrowly missed his head and landed on the floor behind him.

Sasha winced. “Sorry.”

“Give me a heads-up next time,” Jon grumbled. He picked up the tape cautiously, turning it over in his hands. Not even a scratch. “Your statement.”

Sasha nodded. “It’s not broken, is it?”

“No. I swear the Institute’s tapes are immortal,” said Jon. “Martin dropped a whole box once and they were all fine,” he added, a little bitterly.

“Cut him some slack. You knocked over a whole shelf that one time, don’t forget.”

Jon huffed. “I fainted into it. Hardly my fault.” Jon drummed his fingers, trying desperately to change the subject. His eyes caught on the document stack. “Oh, by the way. Elias has deemed it necessary to give us yet more work, in addition to organizing Gertrude’s mess of an archive.”

“Oh, joy,” said Sasha, and rolled her chair to Jon’s side of the office to take her proffered half.

\---

Sasha had been able to record three statements in a row, today.

Something was up.

She shouldn’t have been able to record two, even. Not since yesterday’s exhausting statement.

The statements, the  _ real _ statements, the ones that went on tape - they took something out of her, something physical. They left her exhausted, most days, even if she could stand them more and more these days. 

But these new statements were  _ supposed _ to be real, at least mostly. They were supposed to be Jon’s. 

After four statements, she confronted him. 

“What statements are you working on?” she asked Jon cautiously one morning. He was holed up in the archives, like he usually was when Sasha recorded statements. It occurred to her that maybe she shouldn’t have taken the office for an hour and a half. 

Jon slid the pile over to her wordlessly, invested in whatever he was researching.

“D’you mind if I take a couple?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” Sasha took a few pages off the top of Jon’s small pile, and returned to the archivists’ office again. She booted up her laptop, waiting for the screen to load. 

Statement of Nathaniel Thorp. Statement of David Laylow. Statement of Lawrence Mortimer.

She took the first one she could grab and pressed  _ record. _

_ “Statement of David Laylow, regarding his time working at an industrial abattoir near Dalston. Statement recorded April 3rd, 2016. Audio by Sasha James. Statement begins. _

_ “I used to work at a slaughterhouse. A ‘meat processing plant’. I won’t say which one. I don’t want to get in any trouble. It was up near Dalston, though, so you can probably figure it out.” _

Stop recording. Play. 

The entire recording was static.

Sasha picked up the pile of false statements on the other side of her desk and set back for the archive.

“Tradesies,” she said, flopping her stack onto the small desk Jon had set up.

“Hmm?” said Jon, looking confusedly between the stack and Sasha. 

“Elias gave me the real statements. Well,” Sasha huffed, “He gave  _ me _ the real ones, to give to you, to mess up our switcheroo-” she waved her hands aimlessly. 

Jon stared. “Pardon?”

“The ones I was recording this morning were fake. Yours are real and extra creeptacular. Let’s trade.”

“Ah.”

“Unless you  _ do _ want to read the spooky statements.”

“I hate that word,” said Jon, and passed over the stack of real statements without another complaint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sasha: Statement's haunted.  
> Jon: What?  
> Sasha, handing him his pile: Statement's haunted.
> 
> \---
> 
> Thanks for reading! I also semi-cross-posted this to Tumblr.
> 
> Also, guess who's been incorrectly spelling Michael this entire time? Me, apparently!


	9. Return of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes on some extra work. Sasha stresses. Martin also stresses, and Tim bothers everyone endearingly, as he is wont to do. Plot conversations are made, and the author adds a tag they've been waiting to add for months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's me! Finally updating! 
> 
> Content warnings are:  
> -Gaslighting/Manipulation  
> -Obsessive behavior, as a result of mental illness & trauma (mentioned in passing)  
> -Swearing  
> -Slight gore  
> -General bad self-care (mentions of bad eating habits, also)

April 17th, 2016

Over the past few weeks, Sasha had been acting… strange, to say the least. She’d been keeping herself holed up in the Archivists’ office, despite Tim’s best attempts to coax her out. 

Nearly every evening, either Tim or Martin would come by, inviting Sasha to one social convention or another. And nearly every evening, Sasha, deep in thought, would politely decline.

In light of this, she would remain in the Archive nearly as late as Jon.

He supposed he was a bad influence.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel bothered. He had half a mind to take a page from Martin’s book and make her a cup of tea, or something.

God, Martin. He’d been coming into the archivists’ office more often, nowadays. Laden with tea, usually, and Jon would grow increasingly annoyed at how he never failed to greet him so  _ cheerfully _ and smile that  _ ridiculous  _ polite smile and get Jon’s tea  _ exactly _ right and-

Well. He was getting ahead of himself.

Regardless, Jon was bothered by a lot of things, lately. Martin. Sasha. The worms that littered the pavement before the entrance and never ceased to leave Martin rubbing his hands up and down his arms and legs for the next two hours. 

Jon guessed he had been acting strangely, as well. One couldn’t help it, with the amount of things going on.

But it was fine. He was fine. Things were fine.

Except, Sasha wouldn’t stop gazing morosely at her growing pile of paperwork.

_ A cup of tea, or something, _ Jon thought to himself.

He cleared his throat, causing Sasha to jump nearly out of her seat.

“Do you…” Jon started, and then stopped.

Sasha looked at him expectantly. There was no annoyance in her face, but Jon still felt trivialized. 

“I want to help,” he said suddenly. “With the, ah,” he gestured towards Sasha’s looming pile of documents. “Complicated statements.”

“The what?” Sasha asked. 

“You know,” he said uncomfortably. “The statements that Elias gives you, to give to me, that I give to you, et cetera. The ones that don’t record digital.”

Sasha seemed confused for a moment, before her face was flooded with understanding. “The real ones,” she said.

“The corrupted ones.”

“Whatever you want to call them. Jon, are you sure you want some back?” asked Sasha, concerned. “Honestly. You seemed kind of… squirmy the last time you recorded one of them, instead of your usual ‘Ghost In My Basement’-type statement.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Jon, more to himself than to Sasha.

Sasha gave him a look that was all too familiar; the one she gave him when he said something like “I’ll leave the archives by nine” or “Document storage actually isn’t that bad a place to sit for thirty minutes.” A look that said  _ you’d better, or I’m going to self-care your sorry ass all the way to America. _

Out loud, all she said was, “If you’re certain,” and passed him some documents. 

He wasn’t quite sure what he meant to accomplish by this, but he sure as hell was going to do it anyways. Better than let his friend become a Sasha-shaped puddle at her desk.

Friend. Were they friends?

Jon hoped so, and then scowled at himself for feeling such human emotions.

He supposed it was true, though; friends ranted to each other about their horrid boss, and made sure the other had eaten lunch, and gave each other bric-a-brac to put on their desks. Friends took on paperwork that made them think about what goes bump in the night far more than they’d like to.

It wasn’t like he had much else to do with his time, though. Much else he  _ should _ be doing with his time. 

He should be doing something with his time right now. Instead, he decided to keep glaring at the folders on his desk, wishing that the holes his gaze was boring through them would manifest in the yellow cardstock.

A voice cut through Jon’s thoughts.

“Sasha?” Tim asked, leaning into the room. “We’ve got someone in the Archive. Looking to make a statement.”

“I’ll be just a minute,” said Sasha, and then paused.

Ah.

“Jon,” she said hesitantly, “do you want to take this one?”

That was part of his job, now, he supposed. 

“I can do that,” said Jon.

\---

Sasha, unlike Jon, took up the offer of working in the assistant’s room; the first time. 

It wasn’t ideal, working off the edge of Tim’s desk, but it was miles better than cold, gloomy, document storage. Not that the assistant’s room was any warmer, being in the basement.

Sasha bundled her cardigan around herself with a shiver. Tim nudged her with his foot. 

“Maybe we should get Elias to invest in some space heaters,” he muttered. 

At his desk, Martin grimaced. “I think that’s too modern, for him,” he said. “He’s more likely to give us two sticks and tell us to make do.”

Sasha giggled.

“I’m sure he’ll make an exception for his favourite archivist’s assistant,” said Tim cheekily.

“Who?” said Sasha. 

“Martin,” said Tim. “He’s your assistant, right?”

“Am I?” asked Martin.

“Wait, who’s whose assistant?” asked Tim, whirling around to face Sasha.

“I’ve never really thought about it!” Sasha raised her hands in mock defense.

“Does there have to be specific assistants, though?” asked Martin. “I mean, we’re just here to assist in archiving, in general. ‘Archival Assistants,’ not ‘Archivist’s Assistants’”

“Oh, please,” said Tim. “Like we do much actual archiving.”

“True,” said Martin, “but still.”

“I’d like to revisit the topic of ‘Elias’ favourite archivist,’” muttered Sasha good-humouredly.

As Martin and Tim continued debating the topic of assistantry, Sasha turned her attention back to her laptop. 

There was still so much she needed to do.

She was grateful to Jon for taking some of her load off, of course.She’d probably still be working through some of his false statements, but those were... easier. Follow a few dead ends, write them down, list them as “Discredited” and file them with the others. Piles of paperwork, but not nearly as difficult as wrapping her head around the strange powers and people of the more verifiable ones. 

It wasn’t the paperwork that worried her, though. It was–well, everything about their current situation.

Everyone was on edge, she knew. Why wouldn’t they be, after a woman filled with worms had tried to make Martin a human-shaped block of swiss? The amount of worms prowling the Institute’s doorstep (and, on a few notable occasions, its halls) had continued to grow. Sasha could no longer keep track of the times one of them had gone home early, to avoid seeing just one more. 

Sasha was knee-deep in statements, wiki pages, and bad ghost movies, but not  _ one _ of them had told her anything. Not about Prentiss, not about Micheal, and not about why Elias kept being so strange.

It wasn’t jealousy, of course. All of it just seemed… wrong, somehow. Elias’ persistence of getting real statements to Jon. His constant  _ knowing _ of who was recording. His persistence that  _ everything was fine _ , and that  _ he had it handled _ , and that she should  _ really try that masseuse down the street, very de-stressing. _ The constant feeling of being watched.

She knew something was wrong. She wasn’t sure if he was weird-evil, or typical-company-boss-evil, or some eerie combination of both. 

Whatever it was, she didn’t trust him. She didn’t think anyone else did, either.

Their argument long-ceased, Martin leaned forwards in his chair. “Are they… fighting?” he asked, peering at the shared wall between the assistants’ room and archivists’ office. 

Behind it, came a series of muffled shouts. 

“Great! Great!” cried a voice. “I should have known this was a complete waste of my time.”

“Probably,” replied Jon acidly.

Tim put his head in his hands.

“He can’t be nice for one minute,” Sasha grumbled.

\---

As it seemed, Jon could  _ not _ be nice for one minute.

It was warranted, though, in his opinion. This imposter of an investigator came into  _ their  _ institute, disrespected  _ their _ work and then took off again. It was insulting.

He wasn’t sure how Sasha could stand to  _ chat _ with her, of all things. Right outside their office. 

At least he hadn’t had to use the desk in document storage and its hard metal chair, again. His back still ached from last time.

Ms. King’s statement hadn’t been  _ bad _ , either; not like he’d been expecting, although it certainly was disquieting. A woman peeling skin off her arm was disgusting, sure, but it could have easily been a trick of the light. It was dark when it happened, after all. 

Of course, there was still footage to review. All in due time. 

Jon took a sip of water, soothing his aching throat. Yelling, as it turned out, left you very thirsty. 

Elias was going to have his head, later. Sasha, too.

Sasha returned to the office some time later, Melanie, he assumed, having left the Institute. “All clear,” she told him.

“Sorry,” muttered Jon, who was beginning to regret at least some of his choices.

“It’d do you good to not yell at statement-givers, you know,” said Sasha with a grin.

“And you’re not mad,” said Jon, “just disappointed.”

Sasha shrugged. “You said it.”

Jon inched further into his seat. “She runs ‘Ghost Hunt UK, though,” he muttered bitterly.

“I know,” said Sasha, sounding a little starstruck.

“Don’t tell me you’re a fan,” said Jon.

“And you’re not?” asked Sasha. “We even exchanged. For platonic reasons,” she added hastily, at Jon’s cocked eyebrow. “It might be useful, considering we work in the same field.”

“Hmph,” said Jon.

“Also, Melanie’s nice. Like, genuinely. If you don’t insult her.”

“Debatable. She insulted me first.” Jon crossed his arms.

“Over what?”   
  


“She said the tape recorder was ‘absurd,’” he huffed. 

Sasha snickered. 

“It’s a  _ tape recorder _ ,” he continued. “It gets the job done.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit it looks a little…” Sasha waved her hand in the air for emphasis. “Extra.”

“It’s not,” said Jon, “And it never was.”

“Maybe a little bit,” said Sasha.

Jon deflated slightly. “Maybe a little bit,” he admitted, stubbornly.

Sasha laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought I was done talking about the ceramic cat, huh? Never. 
> 
> (Also, I know the chapter title doesn't entirely make sense, but I had to make the joke somewhere >:3c)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and make sure to drink water!

**Author's Note:**

> since I don’t write fic too much, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!
> 
> come find me on tumblr @ glockmonkey ! feel free to jump into my inbox anytime and let me know what you think of the fic!
> 
> have a great day and remember to drink water!! :)


End file.
